


Now and Then

by JPeterson



Series: Locked Away [2]
Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Humor, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-07 21:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8817187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JPeterson/pseuds/JPeterson
Summary: The royal family is still the apple of Arendelle's eye; even if the current generation is even less traditional than the last one.





	1. Now: First Child

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be called _Open Wide,_ but I decided to restructure everything in the 11th hour and _Now and Then_ ended up fitting better. This was also intended to be a oneshot, but I've honestly lost track of the amount of times I've said _that._ Please note that this is a follow-up to _Locked Away,_ though there aren't a whole lot of references.
> 
>  _Now_ chapters are set in the present. _Then_ chapters are set in the past, which is basically 'somewhere between _Locked Away_ and _Now'._ Nows show what's happening in the present and all take place on the same day, and Thens are full-chapter flashbacks to whatever moments are the most relevant to explaining how the preceding Nows came to be.
> 
> (Please don't let me be the only one who thinks that makes sense.)
> 
> Enjoy.

The royal stables are always peaceful, but rarely completely quiet. Anna knows this, and with the amount of time that she spends in here, she also knows every creak of timber and every scraping hoof. So really, it isn't that hard for her to pick up on the sound of someone else in here with her. She even manages to catch a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye, and shoves down a chuckle as she continues to run the brush over Borr's pitch-black flank.

"Y'hear that, boy?" she murmurs, and watches the stallions gray-tipped ears flicker in response. "Think someone's going to try a sneak attack?"

Borr's soft snort makes her smile. It's a remarkably unconcerned response for a potential attack on the queen consort, but _she_ isn't feeling especially worried, either. Instead, she continues her calm, studied brushing of the large animal, uses her directional hearing to keep track of the rustles as they circle from her right side to her left, and sends careful, calculating glances over Borr's broad back to the large pile of hay that he's occasionally turning his head to.

Another rustle has her adjusting her position just a fraction to the left, and she runs the wide brush slowly over the side of Borr's neck. And counts.

Anna gets to minus three this time, and takes a moment to smile at the increase in patience. Then she has to hop - if not exactly for her life – and swing her legs around until she's laying flat atop Borr's back while a small form zooms past underneath her, and with her hands on the horse's shoulder blades for balance, she smothers a grin at both the _poof_ of impact from the hay pile and the remarkably exasperated look being aimed her way from the stallion's large eyes.

"Foo!" comes the indignant squawk from beneath the hay, followed by a dark head popping out of it and a tiny fist waving in the air. "No good!"

Anna snickers as she slides onto the hay-covered floor - on the other side of Borr, this time – and drops to a crouch before fishing the small body out from between the stalks and settling down with the toddler in her lap. " _I'm_ no good? Listen to you, y'little stinker; who was sneaking up on who?"

Chocolate-colored brows scrunch above moss-green eyes, and Magnus sticks his fingers in his mouth as he seems to consider that. Then he grins, and there's a saliva-coated finger pointing directly at Anna's nose. "Ea!"

"Nuh-uh!" Anna tickles him and draws out the sound of her denial because it makes the little boy laugh that much harder; all the while smiling at his designation for her. The common theory is that it comes from the Saami word for 'mother' – _eadni_ – since that's where Magnus apparently has his roots. "I never sneak up on anyone!"

"Foo," is the scowling response to that particular bit of supreme misinformation; a word Magnus uses whenever he smells something bad, and apparently also whenever he decides that someone is lying. "Ea sneak mama."

"Yeah, I guess you got me there," Anna chuckles, and lies back in the warm straw with her son straddling her front. "Sneaking up on your mama is fun, right?"

"Fun," Magnus agrees, even though he's absorbed in playing with the colorful laces that hold the top half of his mother's practical shirt closed. "Make big boom, snow snow snow, whoosh!" He yanks on the laces like the reins to a horse, and only distracts Anna from her laughter when the collar of the shirt tightens a little too much. "Sparklies!"

He isn't wrong, though Anna doubts that the guards – who had dutifully responded to their queen's startled yell and proceeded to fall all over each other when they reached the ice-covered floor – had been amused. They wear their spiked boots in the castle even now, and it's absolute hell on the flooring.

"Ea?"

"Mm?" Magnus is chewing on the edge of his own collar, and Anna chuckles as she picks a stray piece of hay from his thick hair before smoothing it down. "Hungry, kiddo?"

"Nose."

"'Maybe'," Anna corrects; charmed though she is by his logic that something that is both 'no' and 'yes' should be a verbal mashup of the two. "How about we stay here and play with the horsies for a bit, then? Would you like that?"

Magnus clambers higher on his mother's front with a concentrated scowl, and Anna swallows down a yelp because oh, _God,_ those aren't handles. He settles over her ribs, at least; resting tiny hands on her shoulders and leaning over with a very severe – for a going-on-two-years old - frown on his face. "Den go mama?"

Somehow, she manages not to smile. "Absolutely," she promises seriously. "Then we'll go find your mama. Your sister should be awake by then, too."

"Lulu," Magnus identifies, and sits back in a way that makes Anna glad that she didn't have a big lunch; especially when he starts bouncing idly. "Lulu and mama. Good."

"Glad you approve." The laugh becomes almost painful to hold down when Magnus then sprawls on top of her with unconcerned abandon; his arms curling around her neck and a sigh warming her chest that's long and contented and bordering on hedonistic, and _so like Elsa_ after a long day that Anna has to almost bite her lip through to squelch her grin.

She manages, though, and curls an arm around him as she marvels all over again at how big he is now compared to when she first held him, and how tiny he still is that the span of her hand from wrist to fingertip is still longer than the small of his back is wide.

Their son. In nature and law if not in looks, and in love, if not in blood.

Magnus' breathing deepens steadily as his body grows heavy against her, and Anna's heart swells with affection until she has to close her eyes against a sudden onslaught of tears; one that will probably always transport her back in time to that one evening in Elsa's study.

" _I love you so much."_

Borr nickers softly and lips at Magnus' hair, and Anna reaches out a hand to rub the large, soft nose while her lips press a lingering kiss against her son's head. "I love you, little prince."

"Love Ea," is the sleepy, lip-smacking reply. "Love mama."

"And Louise," Anna adds with a smile; stroking his back soothingly.

"Lulu," Magnus murmurs, and yawns way bigger than someone that small should be able to. "Love Lulu."

She holds him a little tighter and kisses him again. "That's my boy."


	2. Then: First Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am an idiot. One week ago, I finished this chapter. I checked it over, uploaded it and went through it one more time because _blarghadditionallinebreaks._
> 
> Then? Then I promptly _forgot to post it._
> 
> I'll be facepalming in a corner if anyone needs me.

****Even magic has little to offer when compared to the power of nature. Anna knows this to be true as the winter gale howls outside the windows of her study, and sends the frost-speckled glass a considering look while the candles that light her desk flicker slowly. It's late – or possibly early - and while it was infinitely more fun to be awake because the sky was, growing up comes with responsibilities; ones that mean that this time, she's up in the wee hours of the morning to work. Specifically, to do _Elsa's_ work after having completed her own, because her sister still struggles to shed the last vestiges of a particularly nasty bout of illness that Anna blames on the unusually harsh winter; one that honestly compares to Elsa's unintentional freezing of the land as a mountain does to a hill.

The blizzards _do_ stop, but rarely for more than a day before resuming for another week, and while Arendelle is high in the north and its people certainly no strangers to the lower extremes of temperature, this is far enough out of the ordinary that the harsh weather is taxing the hardy folk.

The proof of that, Anna considers with a shake of her head as she returns her attention to the papers before her, is clear enough in how even the Snow Queen has ended up bedridden with – of all things – a _cold_ for the past weeks. It would be funny if Elsa – who has been almost disgustingly healthy in all the years that Anna has known her; one particular birthday not withstanding – hadn't been so miserable; enough that she has essentially spent the past fortnight sleeping in fits and stutters between coughing until her head aches or sneezing until her eyes water.

Anna would be a lot less worried if she had any reasonable amount of time to spend actually _caring_ for her, but with the queen sick, her usual duties fall to the queen consort, which... well, that's why Anna is sitting in her study at two in the morning, instead of curling up with Elsa in their shared bedchambers.

Adulthood sucks sometimes, she decides idly with another scratch of her pen across paper while a hard rush of icy wind makes the window panes rattle. Except, of course, for things like actually _enjoying_ the fact that she can help Elsa out like this; that she – after over three years of marriage – has both the political prowess, the clout and the experience needed to take over when required and ensure that both of their tasks are completed; the smaller items delegated to their council and the more critical or personal tasks left to her.

The latter group, unfortunately, is still the larger one, and Anna lifts her pen from the paper to rub at her eyes while a yawn threatens to dislocate her jaw. The pile isn't made any smaller by the weather, either, because while the councilors and advisers can plan to have the guards put to work clearing snow, re-assign miners to chopping sorely needed firewood and budget for extra trading to feed and clothe those who need it, all those plans still have to be approved, and in order for her to approve them, she needs to _understand_ them.

That takes work, and while work is regrettably doing a very fine job of keeping her from her sick wife, she can at least still take care of Elsa in this way; give her some peace to rest and regain her strength...

… and apparently also show up in the slowly opening door to the study; hair loose and falling in soft waves around her shoulders, dressed in a warm, green robe that she _definitely_ snagged from Anna's side of the closet, and cradling a sizable bundle of what looks like spare clothes.

She wonders somewhere, as their eyes meet and her heart swells in her chest, if it's normal to still feel _this,_ so long into a relationship. To still feel her heart skip at beat at the _sight_ of her sister; to still feel the rush of light in her veins at Elsa's mere _presence,_ even after what's nearing half a decade. She wonders, and decides with a smile that she doesn't particularly care if it _is_ normal. She's just glad that it's theirs.

“Please tell me that I don't have to order you back to bed,” she half-jokes while Elsa carefully closes the door behind her; scanning her sister _maybe_ a bit anxiously and feeling her worry settle at the clarity in those eyes and the more normal color in Elsa's cheeks; rosy, rather than ruddy from fever or pale from chills. “I'm still the official queen regnant until you're declared fit for duty, and I'll do it if I have to.”

“I have no doubt of that.” Elsa's voice is a little husky from the strain of coughing, but it's also steady and _aware_ , just like the warmth in her eyes as she crosses the room and carefully adjusts the clothes on her arm. “I can't claim to be fully recovered, but I'm well enough to be up; I promise.”

“Up doing what?” Anna wonders, and sends the folded – bundled, really – clothing a puzzled look as she sets down her pen; happily turning her attention away from work. “I'm pretty sure any laundry can be carted around once the sun's actually u--”

Then the bundle sneezes, and Anna blinks as she catches up. “That's a baby.”

Elsa just _looks_ at her for a long moment in a very _you don't say_ kind of way, and Anna's ears heat because her sister's mouth is doing that halfway-twisty thing that means that she's trying not to laugh, and yeah, okay; way to state the obvious.

“Sorry,” she sighs, and scrubs a hand over her face. “Grass is green, snow is white, and I get stupid when I'm tired.”

“Given that you've apparently yet to sleep, I'd be worried if you _weren't_ tired,” Elsa points out as two cool fingers reach out to stroke her cheek; her voice fond and maybe also a little worried. “Anna--”

“I know,” she promises quietly; catching the hand in her own even as she cuts Elsa off, and then scooting over in the thankfully large chair so her sister can sink to a seat next to her. “There's just so much to do.”

Elsa's eyes are deep and blue and warm with understanding and gratitude, and Anna leans against her and feels the brush of lips against her forehead as she takes in a long, slow breath filled with winter winds and warm hearths because _God,_ she missed this. Missed just being close to Elsa while she's awake and alert; missed feeling the rhythm of her breathing without the interruption of a wracking cough, and missed feeling the brush of soft, slightly cooler skin against her own; of lips pressing against her cheek and curving in a smile that she can see with her eyes closed.

“You work too hard,” Elsa murmurs against her skin.

Anna snorts. “Pot, kettle,” she returns, and feels the warm body she's leaning into vibrate with a chuckle.

“Me taking on your _less_ unfortunate habits isn't a reason for you to take on my _more_ unfortunate ones.”

“Well, at least you still know how to pay a compliment,” Anna decides, and lets her lips shape a smile at the eyeroll while her arm slips around the small of her sister's back. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

Elsa eyes her wryly. “I haven't slept through the night in weeks, and still feel like I've slept _for_ a week,” she says, and there's a twitch in her shoulder like she wants to lift her hand; to trace the freckles on Anna's cheek the way she likes to do when they sit like this. She doesn't, though, and Anna guesses that what stops her is probably the unfamiliar weight of the cloth-swathed bundle in her arms.

Which... oh, yeah. “You wanna tell me where you got your hands on an infant?” she questions; leaning into Elsa's side and using her free hand to carefully pull the soft fabric back until she can see the baby's face; all tiny and clean and peaceful in sleep.

A soft breath of laughter tickles her hearing, and Elsa's fingers gently brush a lock of thick, dark hair away from the small forehead. “Would you believe that they found him in a basket outside the castle gates?”

“In this?” Anna pauses for a few seconds to frown at the windows, and then twists her face around enough that she can make out her sister's candlelit features. “You reading folktales again?”

Elsa rolls her eyes. “Yes,” she admits. “But that's still where they found him.” Carefully, her fingers tuck at the warm cloth; folding and adjusting until the tiny face is fully visible and Anna can see the small mouth open in a mighty yawn that probably means that the baby isn't _quite_ sleeping. “The guards are out there every quarter hour even now, and I suppose that whoever left him realized as much.” Her voice is a low, gentle murmur that Anna hasn't heard in way too long, and she lets it stroke along her hearing while her fingers curl around a fold in Elsa's – her – robe and hold her that little bit tighter. “We can't really get him across the city to the orphanage in this weather, but...” A pale hand settles across the fabric when the the little boy wiggles, and Anna can feel Elsa's face move in a smile. “... one of our live-in staff recently had a child, and offered to take the place of wet nurse until the storm clears. We'll make it work.”

“We usually do,” she agrees peacefully; resting her cheek on Elsa's shoulder and closing her eyes for a few heartbeats; both to alleviate the exhausted sting in them and to give herself a moment to process the slight tinge of... _something_ in her sister's voice. “Doesn't explain how _you_ got a hold of him, though.”

The shoulder she's leaning on moves in a small shrug. “Annika – our temporary wet nurse – starts her duties in a few hours and couldn't really care for him beyond making sure he's fed,” she explains softly. “And since we're down to our resident staff-- I assume you had the rest stay home?”

Anna nods. “No reason for them to be stuck here when they could spend the time with their families.”

She takes the soft kiss to her forehead for agreement. “Very true. It does mean that we have no one to spare for child care for however long this storm lasts,” Elsa muses, but doesn't sound particularly upset about it as she strokes a gentle fingertip over one small cheek. “But since I was up anyway, I thought I might as well make myself useful.”

“Mm.” Her hand covers Elsa's where it rests across the baby's belly, and Anna leaves it there and feels the sleepy kicking of tiny feet as she considers both what Elsa said and didn't say. “He's cute,” she offers quietly, and smiles when the small, bleary eyes flutter open as if on cue and a burbling breath fills the brief silence. “Yeah; you.”

The slow scrunching of the tiny face really should be warning enough, but they both still jump when a loud, angry cry echoes off the walls.

“Whoa!” Anna's eyes about pop out of her head, and she's _definitely_ awake now. “That's quite a set of lungs,” she laughs; helping Elsa to tug open the swaddled blanket before lifting the little boy free and cradling him against her own chest. “Shh, kiddo; it's okay.” Elsa tugs until Anna is leaning back against her, and she lets the baby wail and kick at the hand of the arm she's got curled under him; wiping gently at his ruddy cheeks while Elsa's arms slip around her and settle the blanket over them both.

“Peasant's clothes,” is the low murmur by her ear when the baby's cries have quieted to low sniffles, and she watches a small hand clutch at Elsa's finger and studies the rough – if clean – cloth that covers the tiny arm. “What do you think happened to his mother?”

“Lots of options,” Anna muses; settling back into her sister's arms and finding a charmed smile for the tiny scowl aimed her way while the baby pokes the tip of his tongue out. “Young, maybe. Unmarried.” She combs the thick, unruly hair back with careful fingers. “Or, if she's poor and had no real way of caring for herself _or_ him...”

“Mm.” Elsa's hold tightens when the little boy mewls sadly, and Anna watches her free her finger from his grasp and flick a large, floating snowflake into existence a few feet above them.

“Ba!” The tiny eyes widen, and Anna smiles when a small arm shoots upwards in an uncoordinated grab. “Aga!”

“I think he approves,” she decides; feeling the slow stutter of Elsa's chuckle against her back and watching the long fingers weave and wind in the air; setting the large snowflake to spinning lazily and calling to life a gentle dusting of tiny, silver flecks that drift towards them but never actually land. “You're so cute.”

“Isn't he?”

Anna snickers. “I meant you.”

“Hrm.” There's a little extra heat in the cheek next to her own, but she can also feel the skin pull to make way for a smile. “Thank you.”

They settle like that for a while; all three of them curled up together in the large chair and the baby gradually settling in Anna's arms as he watches Elsa's magic play in the candlelight. Anna hums softly; leaning on her sister's shoulder and feeling the slow rhythm of Elsa's breathing while the little boy yawns and clutches at the front of her dress, and knows that Elsa recognizes the melody when she starts singing softly by Anna's ear.

It works like a charm on more than just its intended target, or so Anna assumes when her eyes flutter open to see the candles burned down a good deal further than they were just a few seconds ago.

“Hey.” Elsa's voice is low and warm by her ear, and Anna groans and tightens her muscles in a stretch that doesn't actually have her _moving_ while familiar fingers stroke her arm under the warmth of the blanket. “Bedtime for queens?”

“And foundlings,” she agrees with a chuckle; choking down a yawn as she blinks up at the ceiling and finds her sister's magic still swirling quietly and casting a soft, silvery glow over the three of them. “God, why'd you let me do that? I'll never get up now.”

“Hm.” Warm lips flutter idly against the curve of her jaw. “Well, I've carried you before,” Elsa considers; one hand tucking the blanket in a little tighter around both Anna and the sleeping baby. “I can always do it again.”

Anna rolls one eyeball around until she can see those blue eyes and glower at them. “Don't you dare,” she scolds; catching Elsa's hand and twining their fingers. “You're still recovering, remember?”

“Mm; true.” The fingers she holds squeeze gently, and a second, tender touch trails over the side of her face as Elsa smiles. “Then you'd better get up, Your Majesty, or I can't be held responsible for my actions.”

She groans but obeys; letting Elsa slip free and rise before being tugged to a stand by familiar hands, and the blanket falls by the wayside only for a moment before her sister secures it and wraps it around Anna. One corner, then, is tucked in place around the sleeping baby as Anna settles him against the front of her shoulder, and when Elsa strokes a gentle hand over the baby's head before letting her fingers cover Anna's, there's a _moment._ A single second of those eyes on hers and _so much_ crackling in the air between them; warm and light enough to make Anna's heart skip at least four beats.

“Come on.” Elsa settles a light touch at the small of her back, and Anna lets herself be led down the night-darkened halls; Elsa's familiar warmth against her side and the somnolent infant a pleasant, comforting weight against her chest. “We'll get some sleep, and see about getting him settled at the orphanage in the morning.”

At that, Anna tugs her to a stop and pulls her in until they're kissing a step between peaceful shadow and silvery moonlight; Elsa's scent in every breath she takes and Elsa's hand warm against her own where it covers the baby's back.

She _knows_ this woman; knows every twitch at the corner of her lips, every nuance of her voice and every flutter of her eyelashes, and has learned how to interpret them. She knows that Elsa speaks less the more she feels; that she weighs every word carefully before letting it leave her tongue, and that she still wills so little to herself that if she truly wants something, she'll barely even bring it up.

It is, if she's perfectly honest with herself, the one trait of her sister's that continues to frustrate her, even if it is born of a genuine selflessness that's part-learned, part-ingrained. But they're working on it – together – and they'll get there; in time, and in a thousand tiny steps as they walk a path that Anna wouldn't wish to share with anyone else.

So she breaks the kiss but not the closeness, and waits for those eyes to flutter open and meet her own.

“Do you really want to take him to the orphanage?”

“... no,” is the admission; low and soft in the quiet hallway, and Elsa's eyes slip closed again as she sighs and rests her forehead against Anna's. “But are we ready for this?”

Oh, she doubts it. Still... “Is anyone?” she counters gently; adjusting their hands until Elsa's fingers are steadying the baby's back and Anna can use her own to tuck a wayward lock of pale hair behind her sister's ear. “I mean, I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that most first-time parents just make it up as they go.”

Elsa's chuckle is low and wavers a little. “Probably,” she agrees; her hands light and familiar where they rest on Anna's waist. “And unlike several others, we at least have more than enough resources to take care of him; financial or otherwise.” There's the faintest of tremors to her voice in spite of the easy nonchalance with which she speaks; like she _wants this_ so much that she can't hide it no matter how hard she tries.

Anna feels tiny, peaceful breaths against the side of her throat and the slow, repeated twitching of a small hand against the skin just over her heart. She thinks about a time where Elsa talked about councilors and... _creating life_ and - while nothing has ever come of that - how she was more flushed and flustered that one time than Anna has ever seen her before or since. She thinks about quiet conversations late in the night and agreements of _one day_. And smiles.

"We do, don't we?" she murmurs, and watches the slow, irrepressible smile spread on her sister's face while she plays gently with the baby's unruly hair. "Not to mention plenty of love to go around."

Elsa's eyes are practically _glowing,_ and maybe also the faintest bit shiny as she brushes the backs of her fingers over Anna's cheek. "You're sure?"

Anna just kisses her.


End file.
